


Any Day Now

by parcequelle



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Community: femslashex, Dancing, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-15 17:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12325158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parcequelle/pseuds/parcequelle
Summary: Whatever else is happening, this is dancing: rhythm and motion, instinct and music. This she can do.





	Any Day Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariestess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/gifts).



> For ariestess for FemslashEx 2017. I had a lot of fun writing this and really hope you enjoy it!

‘Let me see if I’ve got this right,’ Beverly says, leaning forward on her elbows. They are sitting at a small table in Ten Forward, close enough to the jolly throng of post-alpha shift bodies that it is justifiable – sensible, even – to angle her mouth a little nearer to Deanna’s ear. ‘Your mother has volunteered you, without your permission, to represent the Fifth House at a diplomatic function celebrating Betazed’s peace treaty with Astoria. In less than a week.’

Deanna takes a swig of hot chocolate (complete with marshmallows and a syntheholic kick, courtesy of Guinan), swallows, and says, ‘Right.’

‘And in this role, you are required to perform a ceremonial dance, which you last danced at the age of twelve, with the elder daughter of the Astorian ambassador.’

Deanna sighs. ‘Why do things always sound so much worse when people say them out loud?’

‘I don’t know,’ Beverly says. ‘But if you’d prefer, I could close my mouth and think it really hard instead?’

Deanna laughs and reaches over to pat Beverly’s hand, leaves her warm one resting atop it. ‘It’s kind of you to offer, but I have to face it sometime. Oh, Beverly, why would my mother think it appropriate to sign me up for this? And without asking, no less? She knows that my knowledge of Astorian dance is rusty, at best, and she certainly knows that I don’t appreciate her failing to consult me.' She sighs. 'But I also know that she doesn’t see the harm in it. She honestly believes that this sort of thing falls within my duties to the Fifth House.’

‘I’m sorry, Deanna.’ Their hands are still touching, and now Beverly turns her palm up to interlace their fingers and squeeze, an intended transfer of reassurance and support. ‘Are you going to talk to her? Tell her how you feel about this?’

‘Yes,’ Deanna says, ‘but not before the celebration. If I confront her, we’ll only argue, and there’s little I can do now that the delegation is expecting me to fill the role.’

‘I suppose you could still boycott,' Beverly says, conspiratorial. 'Or turn up in your dress uniform as a protest. Or turn up naked. Or will you be naked at the ceremony anyway?’

Deanna shakes her head. ‘Not this time. The Astorians have sartorial customs.’ She drains her hot chocolate and gives Beverly a resigned smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Oh, I’ll be all right. It’s only one evening, and I’ve tolerated worse in my time as an ambassador’s daughter. And you know, I may not even need to boycott.’

‘Oh?’ Beverly says. ‘Why not?’

‘My terrible dancing might just do it for me.’

Beverly laughs. Then, excitement beginning to bubble up in her chest, she drawls, ‘Yes, if only you had a dear friend, well-versed in the traditions of Astorian dance, who’d be willing to spare the time to prepare you.’ Deanna senses her shift in emotion and raises an eyebrow, but it just makes Beverly grin. ‘Deanna, this is going to be _fun_.’

*

Beverly hadn’t exaggerated her knowledge of Astorian ceremonial dance styles, but it has been a while since she’s used it; later that evening, when she is back in her quarters – Deanna’s lips lingering soft and curved on Beverly’s cheek as she thanked her in advance, as they parted ways – she sits down at her desk terminal, pulls up the Federation Cultural Database, and inputs a few targeted search terms. The dances are performed by couples, traditionally of the same sex, though that condition seems to have relaxed somewhat since Astoria’s admission into the Federation. There are plenty of instructional audio and video files, and she scrolls through them, refreshing her memory, until she’s satisfied. Then she opens up a text communiqué to Deanna and types: _Meet me in Holodeck 3 tomorrow at 20:30?_

She taps her way over to her bathroom, taps her way over to the bed, adrenaline and anticipation and something even sweeter dancing through her veins already.

*

‘Thank you for doing this,’ Deanna says, as the turbolift doors spit them out on deck ten. ‘I know you don’t have a lot of free time, and it’s very generous of you to spend it with me.’

‘Oh, yes, Deanna, spending time with you is always a terrible hardship, and adding dancing to it… I’m blown away by my own altruism.’ At Deanna’s eye-roll, Beverly says, ‘By which I mean, “You’re welcome,” of course.’

‘Thank you,’ Deanna says primly, and Beverly laughs. 

She leads them through the now-open holodeck doors and onto the empty grid, black and yellow and waiting for their commands. She turns to Deanna and says, ‘Do you mind if I engage the privacy protocols? So we aren’t interrupted?’

‘Please do,’ Deanna says. ‘In fact, in the interest of sparing our colleagues the need for psychological treatment, I insist.’

‘Come now, what kind of an attitude is that?’ She tries to pitch her words seriously, but the effort is thwarted by the fact that she’s grinning; she loves this side of Deanna, playful and deadpan and wry, loves it when Deanna unfolds it in her presence. Beverly has noticed that Deanna often falls back on humour when she’s nervous, and wonders if she’s nervous now. Wonders why.

Deanna is watching her with a little more interest than she knows how to analyse, so Beverly clears her throat, looks away and says, ‘Computer: security lock-out, authorisation Crusher-beta-zero-seven. Run program Training-Alpha-3.’

A large dancefloor materialises around them, framed by a terrace garden. In the distance, beyond the clear railings, purple mountains cradle a glittering body of water, surrounded by soaring trees; the air is sweet, the artificial sunlight pleasant on their faces but not too warm. They are standing in a recreation of the Betazoid capital, and Deanna laughs in delight, turns a slow rotation to take it all in. ‘Oh, Beverly, when did you find the time to construct all this?’

‘Believe it or not, I still had the template in my holodeck storage files from my time at Starfleet Medical. I just made a few adjustments to our purpose. You remember I wrote to you about the conference I attended on Betazed? This isn't an exact replica of any specific place I visited, just inspired by my time on the northern continent.’ The admission makes her feel vulnerable, suddenly, strangely; it isn't a feeling she's often had around Deanna, not even when they first met and she wasn’t yet familiar with an empath’s abilities. She swallows it down, pushes it away and asks, ‘Do you… like it?’

‘I love it,’ Deanna murmurs. ‘Really.’ She pulls Beverly into her arms without warning, gentle but firm, and it takes Beverly a moment to relax into it. Only a moment, though; Deanna is warm and strong and soft, and fitting their bodies together doesn't involve any complicated geometrics. Suspended in the warmth of her, Beverly enjoys the closeness as long as it lasts; when they withdraw, Deanna says, ‘Thank you for sharing this with me.’

Beverly smiles at her, and she feels somehow shy and pleased and confident all at once. ‘You're welcome.’

Deanna smiles back, eyes soft, and then: ‘Now, I believe you wanted to teach me something?’

*

Though not inherently musical, Deanna has a functioning comprehension of rhythm and a sharp awareness of her own body that suit her to dancing. Beverly starts off by demonstrating the steps without music, allowing Deanna to re-attune her ears and eyes and feet to the long-forgotten movements. She is stilted, at first, brow furrowed in concentration, but her improvement is speedy; within the hour, Beverly’s lead has grown more subtle, the firm press of a hand at the small of Deanna’s back reduced to a shift in weight or the drop of a shoulder. When she demonstrates a slightly more athletic turn and Deanna gets it on just the second try, Beverly can’t help her exclamation of delight.

‘Deanna, you’re a natural!’

Deanna laughs it off. ‘I hardly think I qualify as a natural when I was first exposed to these steps during my schooling. It’s not as though I’m starting from scratch.’ After a long moment, she adds, ‘But thank you.’

Beverly grins.

The music is rich and sweeping, a complex series of intertwined melodies with an audible beat. It isn’t the style of music Beverly usually dances to, but she can imagine far worse pieces as a tool of instruction. Deanna seems to grow more comfortable with it the longer it plays, and by the time the final notes ring out, she has discarded the top layer of her exercise outfit and they are both skin-warm and a little out of breath. Laughing, they come to a stop; Deanna’s left hand is still curved into the dip of Beverly’s waist, Beverly’s hand on her shoulder. Neither moves to dislodge them.

‘Not bad for your first time in twenty years,’ Beverly says. ‘You’ll do wonderfully next week, I’m sure of it.’

There is a tendril of hair falling across Deanna’s forehead; Beverly twitches with the urge to tuck it behind her ear but stops herself. Doesn’t quite dare.

‘Well,’ Deanna says, drawing Beverly’s attention away from the curl, ‘if I do, then it will only be due to your patience. If I could, I’d have you perform in my place just for the pleasure of watching you do it.’

Deanna is eyeing her knowingly, and Beverly can feel her cheeks heat, her voice lost—

—then the computer alerts them to the time and they separate, startled, a breeze made of photons and force-fields rushing to fill the strange new space between their bodies. Beverly clears her throat and jokes, ‘Much as I’d love to take your place, I’m afraid your mother would notice I’m no telepath.’

‘Or she’d be so preoccupied with telling the Astorians about the Sacred Chalice of Rixx that she wouldn’t notice my absence at all,’ Deanna says drily. She bends to retrieve her discarded jacket and Beverly watches her do it, eyes drawn unwittingly to the curve of her hips. Embarrassed, she glances away before Deanna can catch her; pushes the feeling to the back of her mind, hopefully far enough away from Deanna’s senses. With more haste than usual, she closes the program, calls for the arch, and strides out the doors with Deanna in step beside her.

When they’re back in the turbolift, empty but for the two of them, she turns a smile on Deanna. ‘Would you like to do the same thing again tomorrow? Same time?’

Deanna shakes her head. ‘I’m on beta shift tomorrow, but I’m free the next day if you are.’

‘The next day it is,’ Beverly says. Faced with the steady, easy, unthreatening warmth of Deanna’s eyes, she feels her unwarranted anxiety begin to fade. What had she been worried about, really? This is Deanna. ‘I’ll reserve our holodeck time,’ she adds, as the turbolift slows to a halt and Deanna steps out. She smiles at her, and despite the flutter of something unnameable in her stomach, Beverly means it when she smiles back.

‘Goodnight,’ Deanna says. ‘Sweet dreams.’

‘Sweet dreams,’ Beverly echoes. The turbolift doors close on Deanna’s smile, Deanna’s wild hair and flushed cheeks, and Beverly breathes.

*

Two days later, Deanna walks into the holodeck and says, ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ and though Beverly should have registered her presence – should have heard the doors swish open and closed again, should have heard her speak – it isn’t until Deanna is behind her, a gentle hand on her arm, that she can replay the last few moments and understand what’s happened.

‘Deanna,’ Beverly says. She turns, her hands against the railings that overlook the mountains, and smiles. ‘I was lost in thought.’

‘I can tell,’ Deanna teases. ‘I’ve just come from my meeting with the captain. He’s willing to let me take a shuttle out to Starbase 6. It’s only a twelve-hour journey at warp four, so if I leave in two days, I’ll have time to meet with the delegation before the celebration begins.’

‘That’s good news,’ Beverly says, smiling over at her. When Deanna smiles back, it feels different to usual, more intimate; the smile seems to vault the space between them and seep into Beverly’s skin, pulse through her blood. She is momentarily tongue-tied, Deanna’s clever, twinkling eyes on hers, and she manages to ask, ‘Do you know your dance partner well?’

‘Not anymore,’ Deanna says. She takes it all in stride – so casual, so normal – that Beverly finds herself wondering if she’d imagined it. But surely not? ‘We met several times in our youth,’ Deanna continues, ‘but I haven’t seen Tilana since I graduated from Starfleet Academy. I always liked her as an adolescent, though. She was gentle and curious, and always showed far more interest in Starfleet than most of the Astorian nobility dare to.’

She imagines Deanna dancing close with a beautiful, faceless woman – hair flowing, laugh tinkling – and quips, ‘Let’s hope she’s a good dancer.’

Deanna grins. ‘I’m sure she is. No doubt she was chosen for her abilities, rather than as a last-minute replacement because the daughter of the Third House was called to officiate a marriage ceremony elsewhere.’

‘Oh no,’ Beverly says, wagging a finger at her. ‘By the time I’m finished with you, no one will even dare to suggest that you weren’t first choice. Deal?’

They are standing closer than Beverly remembers – had she moved? Had Deanna? Does it matter? – and though she tells her feet to take a step back, the laughing heat in Deanna’s eyes roots her to the spot and the signal is lost. Her heart constricts; all she can think, senseless, is, _Deanna, this is Deanna_ , and then it’s over: Deanna blinks, breaks the spell, takes the step. Maybe she has sensed something in Beverly that has propelled her to act, or maybe she is just conscious of their limited time in the holodeck and the reason they’re here. Either way, Beverly releases her captive breath and follows Deanna onto the dancefloor, sliding back into the safe, familiar role of instructor.

‘Right,’ she says, when she has gathered the scattered vines of her thoughts from around the room and arranged them into speech, ‘let’s start with a recap of what we did last time.’ She steps close to Deanna and takes her hand, slides her own around Deanna’s waist; takes comfort in Deanna’s gentle smile as she calls for the music.

Whatever else is happening, this is dancing: rhythm and motion, instinct and music. This she can do.

*

At 0656 hours on Stardate 44750.3, Beverly and Will stand side-by-side in the shuttle bay, gazing in astonished horror at the garment Deanna has revealed for inspection.

‘That,’ Will says, in his Starfleet-trained-diplomat voice, ‘is… certainly something.’ He scratches his chin and tries, ‘Original. Er, colourful. Shiny. It’s…’ he looks helplessly at Beverly, who has to laugh.

In a stage whisper, she leans over and says, ‘I think the word you’re looking for is “atrocious”.’

He shoots a look at Deanna just as the corner of her mouth twitches up, and then he releases a loud breath and says, ‘Oh, thank God. I was running out of polite adjectives.’

‘After just three?’ Deanna teases. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t say “sparkly”!’

‘ _Sparkly_!’ Will exclaims, slapping a hand to his forehead. ‘Damn, I knew I was forgetting something. Next time. I don’t get the opportunity to say that word often enough.’ He waits for Deanna to put the dress away and then grins at her, pulls her into a hug. ‘Knock ‘em dead,’ he says. ‘Break a leg. Remember to have fun.’

Deanna salutes, mock-serious. ‘Aye, Commander.’

He grins, kisses her cheek, and pulls back. ‘Fly safe, Deanna. I have to head to the Bridge. Let us know when you get there.’

Deanna smiles at him, squeezes his arm. ‘I will. Thanks, Will.’

‘And remember you wanted to… uh, never mind.’ He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, eyes darting between Beverly and Deanna, and says, ‘Well, I’m off. Bye.’

And then he leaves. It isn’t his smoothest exit. It isn’t anyone’s smoothest exit. Eyebrows raised, Beverly watches his retreating back until he’s disappeared behind the cargo bay doors. Then she ventures, ‘That was... a little strange.’

Deanna chuckles. ‘No stranger than usual.’

Beverly lets it go, turns back to her and smiles. ‘Are you ready?’

‘As I’ll ever be.’

‘Good.' Beverly reaches out to take Deanna’s hands in her own and swings them back and forth between their bodies; an outlet for her restless energy, brimming over. ‘I wish I could come with you, but I know I don’t need to. You’ll be fantastic. You know all the steps and you have a good feeling for the music. And it should help that you know your partner a little.’

‘It does,’ Deanna says. She stops swinging and takes a step closer, doesn’t let go of Beverly’s hands. ‘But she still won’t measure up to you, I’m sure of it.’

‘Just as it should be. I can’t have you deciding you don’t need me.’ She means it as a joke, but where the words had sounded teasing in her head, they come out oddly plaintive on her tongue, smaller and more vulnerable than she wishes or intends. ‘I didn’t mean…’ she starts, but is startled into silence when Deanna steps closer still, steps into the space where Beverly’s breath used to be, and places a slow, deliberate hand high up on Beverly’s chest, between her collarbones. Her eyes are on Beverly’s all the time, dark and deep and so close; she leaves Beverly plenty of time to pull away, to shake her off, but Beverly doesn’t. She is nervous, her heart thumping against the entire architecture of her skeleton – and Deanna can surely feel it, surely – but she isn’t afraid. She isn't afraid because this feels an awful lot like compulsion: like a step that has to be taken, like a song that has to be sung. Like inevitability.

‘Deanna,’ Beverly murmurs. It’s almost a question, though she could hardly say which one.

‘I have to go,’ Deanna says gently. ‘I’m cleared for departure at 0700.’

‘Of course,’ Beverly says. She doesn’t move. Deanna smiles at her, wicked and slow, a smile Beverly has seen a thousand times before, in a thousand different ways, but which somehow feels so different, this time. 

‘I have to go,’ Deanna says again, ‘but before I do, I’d very much like a kiss goodbye.’

Beverly heart stops. All she can say is, ‘From me?’

Deanna’s smile grows, curves even higher. ‘If you’d like.’

Beverly’s hand has found its way to Deanna’s on her chest, their fingers twisting together as they speak. She hadn’t even noticed, and now, her skin tingling, she wonders how in the universe that could be possible. ‘I think,’ she says, and her mouth is dry again, her eyes on Deanna’s lips, ‘I think I’d like.’

And Deanna leans in, tilts her head up when Beverly tilts her head down, and they kiss goodbye.

*

Except it isn’t goodbye, not at all. Deanna is only going for a couple of days, will be back before the _Enterprise_ can set off for the Zoreth System and the trade negotiations that await them. Deanna is only going for a couple of days, but they feel like the longest of Beverly’s life. She stares into space as she sits in her office and has to ask Alyssa to repeat herself three times. In her quarters, instead of ordering lunch from the replicator, she tries to order a vaccine for Andorian mumps, and only realises what she’s doing when the computer helpfully informs her that that action requires a medical replicator (to be found in Sickbay, Deck Twelve). On her way to Ten Forward to meet up with Keiko, she almost walks into the closed turbolift doors. (Her one consolation is that no one saw her do it.)

That night, when she returns from an evening of laughter that has left her relaxed and content, Beverly sits at her computer terminal to check her messages. There are two work-related reminders from Alyssa, a duty roster for the upcoming cycle from Will, a personal communiqué from Kate Pulaski – and there, nestled between them, a message from Deanna. It’s text-only, which is unusual but not unheard of, and Beverly allows herself a moment to enjoy the absurd, adolescent surge of excitement that accompanies it before she clicks it open.

_Arrived safely and settled in. Meeting Tilana tonight. Mother is as flamboyant as ever, and I’ve already heard the history of the Sacred Chalice three times since I arrived. I wish you were here._

If she could cradle the words in her hands, she would; as it is, she suspects she will cradle them in her heart for a long time to come. She loses a few moments to gazing dumbly, giddily at the text, marvelling at her own juvenile delirium, before she closes the screen and opens up her weekly medical report. She wants to think about what she’s going to write to Deanna in reply, and she’ll do that better if she lets the words steep, like a strong cup of tea, in the back of her mind. 

*

The next few days are sprinkled with messages from Deanna, each similarly brief but chiming with affection, and they all serve to fill her with a sweet, secret warmth, a blend of delight and longing that she carries around Sickbay and the Bridge and Ten Forward in Deanna’s absence.

_Mother has determined that my gown isn’t sparkly enough. She has also introduced a sequined ceremonial headpiece to complete the ensemble. I can picture your expression as though you’re beside me._

_Tilana is a lovely dancer, but I’d rather be dancing with you._

_We made it through with all toes present and accounted for. When I return, I’ll tell you all about it. I can also tell you the fascinating history of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx._

_Eighteen hours until my departure. It would be dishonest of me to say I wasn’t looking forward to it._

_My shuttle is due to depart in twelve minutes. I can’t wait to see you._

She replies to all of them, her heart skipping, her fingers twitching with anticipation, with desire, with love.

*

At 22:17 the next day, Beverly stands in the cargo bay with one of Keiko’s home-bred roses in her hand – a dark brown rose with silver veins that catch the light; a sparkling chocolate rose for Deanna – and waits, trying not to tap her foot. She is more patient than this. She can be more patient than this. Just because Deanna’s shuttle is already at a standstill mere metres away – just because Beverly has already heard the familiar sound of the docking clamps clicking into place, of the engines powering down – she can be patient. She can be—

—and then there is Deanna, a head of curly dark hair preceding her body out the door of the shuttle. She looks up and smiles at Beverly, waving with the hand not holding her bags, and as she approaches, Beverly’s heart flips over and then starts to race.

She doesn’t speak until Deanna is in front of her, and even then, her carefully-considered witty remark fails her completely. All she can say is, ‘Hi.’

‘Hi,’ Deanna says, and smiles. She pulls Beverly into a hug, her body soft and yielding, her arms around Beverly’s neck; Beverly’s own go around her in turn, her fingers winding into her hair. It’s another kind of dance, the kind that needs no choreography, no rehearsal.

‘I missed you,’ Beverly says, into that glorious mass of hair, and then feels silly. ‘I know it was only a few days, but I—’

‘I missed you too,’ Deanna says. She draws back but stays in the circle of Beverly’s arms, smiling up at her. ‘It’s good to be home.’

Beverly realises she still has the flower in her left hand and presents it to Deanna with a self-conscious laugh. ‘Here,’ she says, ‘this is for you. It’s one of Keiko’s. I thought it seemed appropriate.’

Deanna is examining it with laughter on her lips, and Beverly is just beginning to get nervous when Deanna looks up and says, ‘A chocolate rose. It’s perfect. Would you like to come back to my quarters and help me put it in water?’

‘I’d love to,’ Beverly says. She arches an eyebrow, the warmth of Deanna’s expression daring her to tease. ‘I know how difficult these tasks can be for one person.’

They are still laughing when they reach her quarters, right up until the doors close behind them, until Beverly draws Deanna close. Until she kisses her, tastes that laughter against her own.


End file.
